


He Ain't Heavy (He's My Brother)

by canistakahari



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, Crossover, Divorce, Kid Fic, M/M, Matchmaking, Minor Character Death, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 10:12:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canistakahari/pseuds/canistakahari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Much of Leo's life is defined by Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Ain't Heavy (He's My Brother)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mackem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mackem/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Breakfast and Bacon and Bones](https://archiveofourown.org/works/636260) by [Mackem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mackem/pseuds/Mackem). 



> This is for Vicky, who is the only person I'm willing to write kid!fic for. It is a prequel/companion piece to her story linked above.
> 
> For context: Leonard McCoy is Stiles's older (half) brother. When David McCoy dies Eleanor and Leo move to Beacon Hills and Eleanor marries John Stilinski. Eleanor and John have a kid. That kid is Stiles. Leo's life isn't quite the same after that. 
> 
> Just roll with it.
> 
> Thanks to Daunt for reading this over and offering helpful advice. <3

Leo is twelve years old when Stiles is born.

 

He’s twelve years old and his mama got remarried two years ago; he likes his stepdad okay—he’s quiet and kind and takes Leo out for ice cream sometimes and makes Leo promise not to tell his mama with a sly wink and a conspiratorial pat on the shoulder—but the huge, hollow part of Leo that desperately misses his daddy wants to hate John for even daring to take his place in both their hearts.

 

It helps that John doesn’t ask Leo to call him “dad.”

 

In fact, he tells Leo he can call him anything he feels most comfortable with and usually Leo avoids the fact that he hasn’t decided yet by not calling him anything at all.

 

It’s not perfect, but nothing ever is. Leo already knows that. Leo knew that the second he found out his daddy was dead. Hell— _heck_ —he knew that the second he found out his daddy was _sick_.

 

Leo is twelve years old and he’s spent the past nine months reading everything he can find at the library about pregnancy.

 

A lot of what he reads is just flat-out disgusting and should be completely impossible. Leo avoids the photographs and sticks to the clinically-drawn diagrams instead but he’s going to be a doctor when he grows up, just like David McCoy, and doctors don’t get grossed out by people’s bodies.

 

If his mama insists on having a baby with John, then Leo needs to be prepared.

 

Still, nothing he’s read _quite_ prepares him for John fetching him from the waiting room and bringing him in to see his mama on the night Stiles is born. There are dark circles under her eyes and she looks like she hasn’t slept in days, but she’s smiling so hard, her face brighter than anything Leo’s ever seen.

 

Maybe she smiled like this when _he_ was born, too.

 

“Hey, baby,” she says to him, reaching out to ruffle Leo’s hair. “You doing okay out there on your own?”

 

“Yeah,” he says. “ _I’m_ not a baby, I can sit just fine by myself. One of the nurses gave me a puzzle book. I finished it.”

 

His mama laughs, her hand sliding down to cup his cheek. “Of course you did. Hey, you wanna hold the baby, sweetheart?”

 

“I guess so,” he says. He’s not too sure how he feels about all this, now that the baby isn’t an abstract notion. He suspects there’s going to be a lot of crying. Maybe he can ask for some ear plugs.

 

The tiny bundle on his mom’s shoulder that Leo thought was just a bunched up blanket turns out to be a baby.

 

John comes around to show Leo how to hold it—him, not it, this is his _baby brother_ —and suddenly Leo’s clutching the baby, all wrapped up like a human burrito. He’s asleep, which Leo is relieved about, and makes small snuffling sounds as he breathes.

 

“Has he got a name?” he asks.

 

“Not yet,” says John. “But we’re working on it. What do you think?”

 

“He’s small,” says Leo dumbly. “Smaller than I thought he’d be.”

 

John and his mama both chuckle. “Yeah,” says his mama. “He’ll be small for a while, but then he’ll grow.”

 

“He’s okay,” Leo decides. “At least he’s not crying.”

 

oOo

 

Leo is sixteen years old when Stiles starts school.

 

Beacon Hills primary school is just around the corner from Beacon Hills high school, and Leo and his mama both walk Stiles to school, since John is at work. They each hold a hand, Stiles walking between them, wearing his new Pokémon back-pack and talking non-stop about everything he’s going to do in school and how amazing it’s going to be and he’s gonna be just like Leo and everything is rainbows and nothing hurts.

 

“Did you pack my lunch?” asks Stiles for the fifth time.

 

“Yes,” says mama patiently.

 

“And my markers, did you pack those?”

 

“Yes, baby.”

 

“And—”

 

“If I give you a piggy-back ride, will you _shut up_?” demands Leo, stopping them on the sidewalk.

 

“Okay!” says Stiles.

 

He scrambles onto Leo’s back like a monkey, curling his arms around Leo’s neck and breathing into his ear. Stiles has all sorts of things wrong with his sinuses.

 

“Remember, don’t talk too much,” says Leo. “Give some of the other kids time to talk, too. Don’t hit, push, or call someone names. You’re better than that, and lots of the other kids will be acting like babies, but _you_ won’t. Pick one kid you like and make friends. It doesn’t matter if it’s a girl or a boy. There’s no such thing as being ‘girly’ or liking ‘girly things’, either.”

 

“Okay,” says Stiles earnestly. “I’ll be good.”

 

Stiles doesn’t even look back for reassurance once they get him to the doorway of the classroom; his eyes go big and round when he spots the toys and he runs in and heads straight for the megabloks. There’s another boy there, with dark shaggy hair, and Stiles is chattering to him in no time, the two of them immediately settling down to build a castle together.

 

Leo’s mama heads over to talk to the teacher, so Leo just watches Stiles for a little while. Stiles is talking non-stop and the other boy is just listening patiently and Leo thinks Stiles probably unconsciously zeroed in on the child that will become his best friend for life.

 

“All set,” says mama, appearing back at his side. “Stiles is all registered and ready to go. You gonna pick him up at 3.30?”

 

“Yeah,” says Leo, nodding. “Hey, kiddo! We’re leaving!”

 

Stiles immediately looks up and waves madly. “Bye mom! Bye Leo!” There are no tears or clinging hugs; Stiles goes right back to playing with the other boy.

 

“We’ve been replaced,” says Leo’s mama, snorting.

 

Leo rolls his eyes. “Not even a hug.”

 

oOo

 

Leo is twenty years old when Stiles is diagnosed with ADHD.

 

(Leo is also getting _married_ in a few months.

 

He’s maybe taking on a little too much—he’s doing his internship at John Hopkins and working part time at the Starbucks and spending as much time as possible with his girlfriend, no, _fiancée_ , Jocelyn and he Skypes Stiles every night after Stiles has gotten home from school—but Leo feels like things are _happening_ for him and he’s going to damn well make sure they happen _properly_.)

 

“Hey, kiddo,” he greets breathlessly. He ran home from work to make it in time; it’s bad enough that he barely gets to see his little brother, he’s not missing a Skype date. “How was school today?”

 

Stiles is fidgeting, which is nothing new. He's still small, even for nine, and wearing one of Leo’s Beacon Hills High School hoodies just makes him seem even smaller. “Um,” says Stiles. “I didn’t go to school today. Mom took me to the doctor.”

 

Leo frowns. “She didn’t mention that when I talked to her earlier. Did you have a check up?”

 

“Not that kind of doctor,” says Stiles reluctantly. His gaze slides side-ways, and he starts playing with the strings of the hoodie. “He just talked to me. It wasn’t the first time we went to see him, but... this time, they finally decided what was wrong with me.”

 

“Nothing is _wrong_ with you,” says Leo vehemently.

 

“Mom read this thing my teacher wrote,” mumbles Stiles, ducking his head and ignoring Leo’s outburst. “And it talked all about how I can never finish my work and I talk a lot during class like I can’t help myself and I keep getting sent out into the hallway for not raising my hand.” Stiles is still avoiding Leo’s eyes. “I just thought I was bad at school. School is hard. And... last week, I got sent to the principal’s office.”

 

“So what?” says Leo. “So you got into trouble, everybody gets into—”

 

“They said I have ADHD,” blurts Stiles, and Leo falls silent.

 

Leo falls silent because he knew that, on some level, but that’s always just been _Stiles_. Too fast, too impulsive, and completely unable to concentrate unless he possesses a rapt interest in the subject at hand.

 

“Do you know what that means?” asks Leo gently, because Stiles looks miserable.

 

“No,” whispers Stiles.

 

“It stands for ‘Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder,’” says Leo slowly. Stiles is a smart kid. Leo gives him a second to parse it.

 

“’Deficit’ is bad,” says Stiles stubbornly. “So is ‘disorder.’”

 

“’Deficit’ isn’t bad,” says Leo. “It means you’re lacking something, but it’s not bad. It means you find it hard to concentrate and sit still.”

 

Stiles tilts his head, considering. “Okay. But ‘disorder’ is bad. Right? I’m bad at school. Everyone _knows_ that.”

 

“No,” says Leo patiently. “That means that the parts of your brain that usually help you concentrate on stuff and sit and finish your work aren’t in order. So they’re in _dis_ order. Understand? It’s opposites. It doesn’t mean you’re bad. It helps us understand why school is hard for you.”

 

“The doctor talked about medicine,” says Stiles faintly.

 

“There’s medication you can take to help you concentrate,” says Leo. “The doctors help decide if it’s right for you. Is it bad to take medication when your head hurts or when you’re sick?”

 

“No,” says Stiles.

 

“Then maybe taking medication to help you in school isn’t bad either,” says Leo firmly. “So don’t start worrying.”

 

“Okay,” says Stiles, his voice a little stronger.

 

“You’re gonna be in the wedding, remember?” says Leo. “You’re gonna be the ring bearer, so you get to go down the aisle, and you have the responsibility of hanging onto our rings. We can’t get married without those.”

 

“I know,” says Stiles, and his eyes are wide and bright with pride, his chest puffing out a little. “I tried on my suit. I look like James Bond in it!”

 

“I bet you do,” says Leo, laughing.

 

From that point on in the conversation, Stiles seems a little lighter, chattering about school and Scott and his newest video game, and when Leo signs off to go to bed, he doesn’t feel quite so worried.

 

oOo

 

Leo is twenty-one when he gets married.

 

They have the wedding in Beacon Hills, outside on the edge of the woods, with all their family present. Stiles carries the ring down the aisle with all the gravity of a man bearing something precious and delicate, like a baby or a glass sculpture.

 

Leo ruffles his hair afterwards, ducks down to murmur, “I’m really proud of you,” into Stiles’s ear.

 

Stiles beams at him.

 

There’s a marked difference in Stiles compared to the last time Leo saw him in person. Leo’s mama says that about five weeks into the trial run after Stiles’s psychiatrist prescribed him Adderall, they had confirmed the diagnosis. Stiles stopped getting in trouble at school. He could sit and finish his homework.

 

Leo gets Stiles to help him and Jocelyn cut the cake and lets him have the first piece. Stiles gets icing on his cheek, so Leo smushes a bit of cake into his nose to complete the picture. The indignant look on Stiles’s face has Leo howling with laughter.

 

Then Jocelyn smears cake into his mouth and kisses him to remove every last trace, while Stiles sputters and moans about how gross they are, and Leo has honestly never been happier in his life.

 

oOo

 

Leo is twenty-seven when he gets divorced.

 

The less said about that, the better.

 

oOo

 

Leo is twenty-eight when Stiles decides to make his life an absolute hell.

 

“You booked reservations for me,” says Leo, his voice slowing to an unintentional drawl. It’s been over twenty years since he last lived in the south, but every so often, it slips out.

 

“Yup,” says Stiles, making himself comfortable on Leo’s bed and pulling his laptop onto his thighs. There’s a bowl of popcorn next to his elbow that Leo guarantees is going to be all over the floor in a few minutes, and he shows every sign of making himself comfortable for a prolonged length of time.

 

“At a restaurant,” continues Leo, just in case Stiles is participating in a different conversation than he is.

 

“Yup,” says Stiles, frowning at the laptop and refusing to look at Leo.

 

“With Jim,” finishes Leo.

 

“Wow, nothing gets past you, huh?” says Stiles brightly. “I’m trying to watch a movie, Leo. If you don’t hop in the shower now, you’re going to be late.”

 

“For my _date_ with _Jim_ ,” says Leo, an edge to his voice.

 

There was a time when that tone would cow Stiles, when being his big brother actually had _meaning_. But now Stiles is sixteen and he’s perfected deflective sarcasm to a goddamn art and his life is chock full of brooding werewolves and paralytic lizard creatures and more danger than Leo’s poor heart can stand.

 

Everything is terrible.

 

“I can definitely hear those italics,” says Stiles, shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth and sending a little cascade of kernels down into Leo’s duvet. “Good job. Very emotive. Please feel free to keep repeating this conversation until it makes sense to your senile old brain.”

 

Leo grits his teeth. “Does Jim know about this date?”

 

“Of course he does,” says Stiles, finally looking at Leo. “Because he received a text message from you yesterday and replied with confirmation of his attendance seconds after it was sent. Very enthusiastic.” There’s something pointed in Stiles’s voice.

 

“I want to be very, very angry at you,” says Leo, his face slowly flushing with heat. “But instead, I’m fucking mortified, so anger will come later, after I’ve cancelled this dinner and apologised to Jim and been swallowed by the ground, and then I’ll claw my eyes out and wring your _skinny little neck_.”

 

“Leo,” says Stiles. “You told me how you felt about Jim. It is painfully clear he shares your feelings. It’s one date, okay? If it’s horrible, just move on from that and _be friends_. But just give it a shot. Please. There is so much UST when he’s around that I feel like I’m drowning.”

 

“UST?” repeats Leo, baffled.

 

“Unresolved sexual tension,” groans Stiles, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. “I really don’t want to continue this conversation on its present course.”

 

“I hate you,” sputters Leo. “You are the _worst_.”

 

“And now you’re going to be late,” says Stiles blithely.

 

Leo makes sure that he makes as much noise as possible as he stomps into the bathroom and slams the door.

 

(The date goes really well. It’s awkward for all of ten seconds, and then Jim cracks a joke and Leo laughs and it’s just like any other time they’ve gone out to eat, only this time they’re both dressed up nice and there’s the thrilling undercurrent of possibility.

 

Jim presses him up against the door of the dorm at the end of the night and kisses him, too, which feels so right that Leo is overwhelmed by the intensity of his relief.

 

Then Leo has to endure the smug smirk on Stiles’s face the next day when he points out the hickey on Leo’s neck, and life settles back into normality.)

 

oOo

 

Leo is thirty when Stiles goes away to college.

 

Together with Jim and Derek, Leo helps him move into his dorm. Afterward, they all go out to lunch and Stiles looks absurdly pleased that the four of them are on a _double date_ while Leo and Derek both sigh and Jim fist-bumps Stiles and Leo pretends not to see when Derek curls his fingers over Stiles’s knee and presses a kiss to Stiles’s temple.

 

Jim slips his hand into Leo’s, twining their fingers together.

 

Leo is thirty, and in love.


End file.
